


there haven't been any quiet moments

by SyntheticRevenge



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Drugged Jaskier, Feelings, First Kiss, M/M, they're both very stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:21:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22268584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SyntheticRevenge/pseuds/SyntheticRevenge
Summary: “No, see, it’s…” Jaskier trails off, visibly trying to collect his thoughts through a fog. “You’re a fucking curse, is the thing, Geralt. On me. You’re a punishment for all the people I’ve wronged. Women, specifically, but.”(Geralt saves Jaskier, Again, and this is what he gets for his trouble)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 24
Kudos: 779





	there haven't been any quiet moments

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot stop writing/thinking about these two assholes, so here is yet another short n dumb fic. I will say my characterization of Geralt probably skews more towards the games cuz I've been marathoning Witcher 3, I hope it works okay lol. Hope you enjoy!

Geralt isn’t much for destiny, but he has to admit after a certain point that _something_ has to be pulling him and Jaskier together. Every time they’ve met has been coincidence to the point of being comedic, and it’s always resulted, almost immediately, in one of them (Jaskier) getting himself in mortal danger.

This time, fate’s skipped the middleman. Geralt’s riding to Novigrad to see Triss when the usual bullshit catches his attention. Crew of assholes by the side of the road tying a noose and arguing over whether to wake their victim up before they lynch him. Geralt sighs and slides off Roach, approaching the men with his arms crossed.

“The fuck do you want, mutant?” Asshole #1 asks, stepping towards Geralt and spitting near his feet.

“What’s his crime?” Geralt asks, gesturing towards the unconscious body on the ground, unceremoniously laid on its face.

“Let’s see,” the guy says, mocking being deep in thought, “he owes us a fuckload of money, he’s slept with a few of our wives, and he’s generally a worthless cunt.”

“Hmm,” Geralt grunts, getting a familiar sinking feeling about this. “Might as well let him be awake for his own execution.” 

The guy spits again, then kicks the man right in the ribs, which wakes him up, desperately gasping for air. It’s Jaskier. Geralt wishes he were surprised.

Jaskier looks around, desperately, apparently not seeing Geralt, and reverts immediately to his only survival tactic: endless chatter. It’s slower and more uneven than usual, especially in a life threatening situation, and Geralt’s eyes narrow, something that almost feels like concern in the pit of his stomach. “Gentlemen, hello, this is quite a situation we’re in, isn’t it--”

“Shut up,” Asshole #1 says, taking a few menacing steps forward as Jaskier tries and fails to stand up, a hand to his side. 

“Well, I _would_ , I just--uh--”

Geralt stabs Asshole #1 through the back, and his blood sprays on Jaskier, leaving him sputtering. Asshole #2 swings wildly at Geralt, who ducks and slashes through the man’s legs, leaving him on the ground. Asshole #3 looks terrified, so Geralt just bares his teeth and growls at him, sending him running. 

Geralt crouches next to Jaskier, who still looks terrified.

“You’re welcome,” Geralt says, offering Jaskier a hand. Jaskier takes it and lets Geralt pull him up before half-collapsing again. Geralt catches him. “Not just the broken ribs, then?”

“Think they drugged me,” Jaskier says, holding on to Geralt desperately. 

Geralt grunts, softly. “Guess it’s been long enough since I last saved your ass, bard.”

“Long enough since you last crushed my soul, you mean?” Jaskier mutters into Geralt’s chest, and Geralt’s confused enough by that that he doesn’t bother answering. Man’s not thinking straight.

“Hmm.” Geralt pats Jaskier’s back, tentatively. “I’m headed to Novigrad. You wanna come?”

Jaskier just moans softly, gets out an “Anywhere but Oxenfurt.”

It’s been years, but somehow swinging Jaskier’s semi-limp body onto Roach still feels like a practiced motion. Jaskier keeps lilting to the side, so Geralt has to keep an arm wrapped around him so he doesn’t fall and ride one-handed. Jaskier is incredibly tense under Geralt’s touch, even despite whatever they drugged him with, and it confuses Geralt immensely.

“Ever consider sleeping with less people’s wives?” Geralt asks, in an attempt at being lighthearted. 

“No,” Jaskier answers, extremely petulantly. “Heart wants what it wants, Geralt. If their hearts--you know-- _desperately crave_ me...who am I to deny them.” 

Geralt laughs, softly, and Jaskier weakly elbows him in the ribs. “You’re a heartbreaker, then,” Geralt says, and Jaskier turns around and squints at Geralt, eyes unfocused.

“Yes,” he says, nodding confidently and turning back around. The momentum nearly sends him off Roach, and Geralt tightens his grip. 

“Watch it,” Geralt says into Jaskier’s ear, and he feels Jaskier shudder slightly against him. 

“Yes, sir,” Jaskier says, letting out a tiny giggle. 

“Glad you’re in a good mood, then,” Geralt says, smiling slightly, since Jaskier can’t see him. 

“I’m not.” Jaskier shakes his head emphatically. “I feel like shit.”

“Yeah. We’ll stop somewhere so you can sleep it off.” 

Jaskier’s smell is starting to get overwhelming, and to kill time, Geralt starts counting the parts of it he can distinguish. Stale alcohol, lavender, caramel, sea salt. An odd mix, but sort of pleasant, somehow.

“Did you know it was me?” Jaskier asks, interrupting Geralt’s train of thought.

“What, being strung up? Had a feeling soon as I stopped,” Geralt says. 

“And you stopped because…”

“Because I thought it might be someone who needed help.” 

“And you pretend to be a big scary witcher,” Jaskier says, laughing weakly. “Geralt of Rivia, the White Puppy.” 

“Careful, bard,” Geralt says, smiling again, and suddenly aware of the fact that he’s smiled more in the last five minutes than he has in weeks, months, even. He forces his face back into neutral. 

Jaskier sort of hums, and goes a little limper in Geralt’s grip, and Geralt sighs, resigned to holding his half-unconscious body up completely for the rest of this ride.

He shakes Jaskier awake once they reach a town with an inn, and Jaskier groans with almost operatic force. “Leave me here to die,” he mutters. 

“No,” Geralt says, raising his eyebrows at Jaskier, and pulling him off Roach. “Can you walk?”

“Uh…” Jaskier tentatively takes a step, and then another, and while he does look like a child learning to walk, he is apparently capable of it. “Yes…?”

“Okay. You go in, sit down, I’ll be there once I find somewhere to tie Roach up.” 

“Geralt, look at the sunset,” Jaskier says, pointing, giving Geralt a dazed smile, and Geralt looks up. 

“Looks bloody,” Geralt says, shrugging.

Jaskier pouts. “You are _so_ predictable.”

“Go inside, it’s cold,” Geralt says, and Jaskier rolls his eyes and goes inside. Geralt leads Roach to a free post. “You happy to see him again, girl? Yeah. Nice surprise, I guess.” He ties her up and goes in.

Jaskier is sitting, so he has technically followed instructions, but he’s also downing a pint of ale fairly quickly, which was expressly _not_ part of the plan. Geralt sits down next to him, quickly, and wrenches it away from him. 

“What are you _doing_ ,” Geralt growls, and Jaskier, to his credit, looks genuinely scared.

“Drinking…?” Jaskier says, tentatively, voice tiny.

“You don’t know what those bastards drugged you with, this could _kill_ you.” Geralt drinks the rest of it himself, and it’s godawful, but at least it’s not in Jaskier’s reach anymore.

“Oh.” Jaskier hugs himself, and Geralt feels a little bad for being so aggressive, but not bad enough to apologize. “You just can’t help but save my life, can you?”

“Life is very attached to you, Jaskier,” Geralt says, sighing and rubbing his face, and adds a muttered “So am I.”

“What?” Jaskier asks. 

“What?” Geralt asks, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you need a drink so badly anyway?”

“Because of you,” Jaskier says, shrugging like that’s an obvious fact.

“Me? The man who saves your scrawny ass from every single bizarre and dangerous situation you get into? I’ve driven you to drink?” Geralt asks, crossing his arms. 

“You _love_ my scrawny ass--but yes. Did I stutter.”

“The ingratitude on you, bard.” Geralt smirks.

“No, see, it’s…” Jaskier trails off, visibly trying to collect his thoughts through a fog. “You’re a fucking curse, is the thing, Geralt. On me. You’re a punishment for all the people I’ve wronged. Women, specifically, but.”

“A...curse…” Geralt says. “You think the world would waste me on punishing you?”

“Sorry, do you have better things to be doing?” 

“Yes. Several. How…” Geralt squints, still confused. “How the fuck am I a punishment?”

“I mean, look at you,” Jaskier says, sighing, putting his chin in his hand. 

“Vague.”

“It’s...women fall for me because...look at me,” Jaskier says, shrugging, gesturing to himself. “But I’m--I’m cursed to feel the way that _they_ feel about _me_ about _you_ forever because _look at you_.”

“I think you’re giving yourself too much credit,” Geralt says.

“I’m saying I’m in love with you, and it’s an eternal curse because you keep coming back into my life and being sexy and unattainable,” Jaskier says. 

“Hmmm.” 

“Really? That’s all you have?” Jaskier asks, and his voice is weak again. 

Geralt chews the inside of his lip for a moment before speaking. “I wouldn’t keep saving you if I didn’t panic every time you were in danger.” 

“Witchers panic?”

“I guess so,” Geralt says. 

“Oh,” Jaskier says, half-smiling, and Geralt sighs, leans forward, and kisses him. Jaskier’s eyes widen in surprise. 

Geralt pulls back, and Jaskier beams, before grabbing a handful of Geralt’s shirt and vomiting on his boots. Geralt looks at the ceiling and laughs, quietly. “You’re cleaning that,” he says, patting Jaskier on the back.

“Yes, sir,” Jaskier moans. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. Still feel cursed?”

“Yes. That made it worse,” Jaskier says, nodding earnestly. “That’s alright. Very romantic. Lots of material for poems.”

“If you think you’re singing about this, I’m letting you die next time,” Geralt says.

“Understood, and a risk I might take,” Jaskier says. “I would change your name, don’t worry. Errol of Lyria. See? Doesn’t even sound like you.”

Geralt snorts. “Okay, bard, let’s get you to bed.”

“ _Bed_ bed? Or just...bed.”

“If you could get your cock to work right now, I’d be impressed,” Geralt says. “Just bed. You need rest.”

Jaskier tosses his head back and whines dramatically. “Fiiiiiiiine.”

**Author's Note:**

> All feedback is appreciated <3


End file.
